Jimmy
by Bumblebee'sGuardian
Summary: James Moriarty is the greatest criminal mastermind the world has ever faced, great enough to garner both the attention and obsession of the world's greatest detective, Sherlock Holmes. But how did he start?


_AN: Wrote this about a year ago for a college course. Bit of AU for Sherlock's parents as I wrote this prior to Season 3's release. Enjoy! BG_

Jimmy

* * *

Jim Moriarty stumbled back to his room, his right eye black, his lip bleeding, and his rage untempered. Carl. Stupid, idiotic Carl Powers who dared to laugh at him. He, James Moriarty!

"James, how was your day?" He scowled as his mother called up to his room.

"Fine," He called back with a false tone of happiness, "I passed all my exams and the head master agreed to recommend that I be placed in year ten next quarter."

"That's wonderful! Your father will be pleased. Oh and we will be going out tonight to the Holmes family banquet. Their eldest son, Mycroft, is heading to university next semester. Word is that he may be Prime Minister one day…"

Jim stifled a snort. "Oh really? Will I be joining you tonight?"

"Of course. Your father will want to show his brilliant son off to the world."

Jim growled and pulled out his kit. Antiseptic for his lip and makeup for the bruises and cuts. Yes, today was going quite well. It could only get worse from his stand point…

* * *

Or not. James strolled about the Holmes residence, observing all the fine decorations and jabbering party guests. While he had initially been rather unimpressed, he now found himself watching the boy sitting in the corner armchair, ignoring everyone and reading a biology book.

"Sherlock." An older boy who was beginning to have a rather large girth walked up to the boy and he looked up. "Father wants you to join us at the dinner table before everyone is called in."

"I'm not hungry though," whined the boy.

"Sherlock, you don't want to make father angry. If you'll at least sit and try to look like you're eating, maybe we can slip most of it off onto mine. Father would never have to know."

Jim edged closer as a group of guests by him were joined by a rather obnoxious woman with a high pitched voice.

The boy, Sherlock, set his book to the side, open still. "You promise, Mycroft?"

Jim's eyes widened in fascination. So… The genius, Mycroft Holmes, future Prime Minister had a brother… Of course he did.

"I promise. I told you I'd always look after you and I will."

"But you're leaving…" Pouted Sherlock.

"In two months, yes. Trust me when I say that that won't change a thing between us. I'll still be your first mate." Mycroft chuckled as Sherlock smiled and jumped off the chair hugging him.

"You better be…or it's the plank for you." Sherlock released his brother, leading the way to what Jim knew to be the dining room.

"Curious…" muttered Jim, making his way over to the chair and the open book.

"James." Jim turned around to see his mother. "It's time for dinner to be serve."

"I'll join you in a moment. I just want to wash up." He lied smoothly.

His mother smiled. "Good idea. I'll save you a seat then between your father and I. Don't be long…"

"I won't be." Jim waited till she was out of sight before grabbing the book. "Now what was the little pirate up to..?"

The book had been left open to a section on bacteria. At a brief glance, it was simply a biology book. Then a column caught his eye. _Clostridium Botulinum._ Where had he heard that name before? He read on.

_Clostridium botulinum is a neurotoxin which can cause muscles to be paralyzed and respiratory failure. It is can be found in four forms: food-bourne, wound, infant, and inhalational. While there is no vaccine for botulism, if treated soon enough with an antitoxin, the muscle paralysis will be limited and though respiratory problems will persist, they can be fixed. A person who is afflicted however will find themselves in the hospital for weeks or even months while their body functions recover or are rehabilitated._

Jim blinked. A toxin that could either kill or seriously incapacitated someone… And no one would be the wiser as to how it was contracted! There were so many ways it could be contracted and the source hidden. The perfect way to kill and get away with it. Fantastic…

He set down the book and strolled to the dining hall. Yes… It could be fantastic…

* * *

Jim chuckled at the gullible nature of his science teacher. He's told her that he wished to finish an experiment for extra credit. She's merely smiled and commented on what a wonderful student he was, working so hard even during his off hours to become such a brilliant student… A complete idiot. Needless to say, her stupidity was exactly what he needed at the moment.

He strolled over to the supply cabinet, surveying the supplies. Calcium carbide, sodium nitrate, sodium nitrite, sodium bicarbonate, copper monosulfide, sodium chloride, feldspar… Moriarty smiled as he picked up another vial, this time from the upper shelves, reading the label: C. botulinum. Exactly what he was looking for.

He relocked the supply cabinet and headed down to the basement pool. Of course, there was Carl, practicing for his big tournament today. He was warming up with some relaxing laps. Completely unaware of what Jim was about to do. It was more than pleasing.

The locker room was open and the lock on Carl's was pathetic. Now to induce the poison. It would be easy enough to hide in the boy's eczema prescription. Just a little bit would do… He carefully poured a small dose of the powdered spores into the tube, covering his mouth and nose with his scarf to avoid breathing it in himself. He mixed it in carefully and tossed it back into the gym bag, closing the locker seconds before Carl entered.

Carl smirked, towel in over his shoulder. "Jimmy Boy. Didn't get enough of a thrashing yesterday?"

"Not quite," said Jim calmly, smiling, "I'll be watching you at the match today. Bet 20 pounds on you. Try not to blow it."

Carl laughed. "Me? Blow it? You're so stupid, Jimmy Boy! I'm the best swimmer this country has ever seen! No one can bet me! No one ever will!"

"I will," said Jim calmly, stepping around Carl towards the door, "Soon. Very soon. Sooner than you think, I should say. And with your last breath you shall know two things: not only am I better and smarter than you, I shall be the bringer of your demise. Good day, Carl. It will be a short one. For you anyhow. And it will be an even better day for me." Jim stepped out the door and left without another word, a sinister smile played out across his face. Yes. Today would be Carl's last day on this Earth… And it would be a new beginning for James Moriarty.

* * *

Jim sat in the stands at the London stadium, watching Carl warming up. He seemed slugging already and his breathing was clearly labored. Jim checked his watch. Two hours now since his encounter with Jim in the pool. Fascinating… It seemed Carl really wasn't long for this world.

Jim strolled over to the pool side as Carl began to doggy paddle, his left arm failing him. The other spectators were beginning to notice, a murmur of concern rising from the stands. Jim chuckled happily. Yes… It wouldn't be long now.

Carl suddenly began to seize, thrashing in the water as the paralysis took hold. There was pure terror written on every feature of his face, his mouth flapping open and closed as he seemed to suddenly find breathing to be impossible. Several other swimmers immediately started towards him, unable to get close as he continued to thrash until suddenly he stopped and went still. They dragged him out of the water and began compressions. They did no good. Carl was dead.

Jim took one more glance at the final terrified expression on Carl's face and walked away, pleased beyond all measure. Now to get rid of the evidence. The locker room was open still and it was easy enough to grab the tube of poisoned medication. Jim started to leave until his gaze drifted upon Carl's prized shoes. If they were Carl's most prized possession, why shouldn't they be his now? Besides, there was probably evidence on them… Best to get rid of all the evidence. And they were the perfect souvenir… Jim slipped both into his bag and hurried it out to his parent's car. Now to watch the resulting chaos…

"But Inspector, there is something you're missing! His shoes! Where are his shoes? I saw him walk in with them on! And now they are gone, don't you think that is a bit suspicious?"

Jim ducked back around the corner by the locker room. There talking to the police was none other than Sherlock Holmes! The police inspector looked rather annoyed with the boy, but he continued to prattle on. Amazing. This boy was almost as clever as himself! He'd only seen things once and been able to figure out Carl's death wasn't an accident.

"Why won't you listen to me?! I'm right and you clot heads are too thick to see it! I'm Sherlock Holmes. I am eight years old and smarter than you will ever be!"

The inspector suddenly snapped. "Scuttle off, boy! This is no concern of yours! Carl Power's death was an accident, understood? Come back when you're older and not such a little prat! Go on then! Run along home to your mummy in time for tea!" He motioned to his officers to grab the boy who they dragged away, the boy shouting and struggling all the way.

"It was murder! I promise to you one day I'll prove it to you! Just you wait! I'll make idiots out of the lot of you when I prove it! You hear me?! I'll prove it!"

Jim bit his lip and started back to his parent's car. That Sherlock Holmes would be the ruin of him if the truth ever came out… He'd have to keep an eye on the meddling little boy… One day, he could grow up to be a good enemy though… Maybe… If Jim let him live that long.

Jim smirked finally and strolled over to the car, putting on a sober face as he got in.

"That was absolutely dreadful," said his mother, "Poor child. Drowning like that!"

"So much for being the champion swimmer I say," Said his father, "I imagine his parents will be absolutely ashamed of him now…"

"They'll be distraught, obviously," said his mother, "To lose their only child… Such a terrible business… James, you'll be more careful, won't you?"

"Of course he will," said his father, "He's a Moriarty. Moriarty's have always been smarter than anyone else in the world. He'll even give those Holmes boys a run for their money one day, right, Jimmy Boy?"

"It's James, or Jim, father," said Jim calmly, "And yes. I quite like that idea. One day, I'll be far greater than either Mycroft or Sherlock. I'll be greater than anyone. Even you, father."

His father chuckled. "That's the spirit, James… I hope I live to see when you do. Anyhow, let us get home. Then we can continue your plans for world conquest."

Jim smiled. If only his father knew how right he was…

* * *

Twenty years later…

James Moriarty gazed upon the bound and unconscious form of former Captain in The Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, Doctor John Hamish Watson, only friend and flatmate of Sherlock Holmes. Pity he had to get involved with Sherlock and his investigations… Couldn't leave well enough alone… And it was going to cost him, poor chap. Ah well. That's life.

The soldier stirred and jumped slightly as he caught sight of Jim, cursing mildly. "…what the Hell do you want with me?"

Jim chuckled. "What, no heroic speeches? I must say, you're a lot shorter than I thought you would be…"

John just looked at him straight, a mask of anger and firm resolve clouding any fear that the good doctor may have had. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

Jim smiled. "You don't recognize me, Johnny Boy? I thought that after my little game and my visit at the hospital you'd at least remember me…"

John blinked, clearly thinking for a moment. "Moriarty."

Jim grinned. "Quite right. Well now we've been properly introduced, I believe it's time we got back to our little game… Sherlock made his next move and so have I. What do you think he'll do for his precious doctor?"

"Why are you doing this?" snapped John.

"Why not? It was fun the first time. Now…now it's just business." Jim checked his watch. "We've got a few hours till our meeting with Sherlock…." He knelt down. "Tell me, Johnny Boy… Do you like games?"

A look of uncertainty flickered across John's face before his steely mask returned. "Not your kind of games..."

Jim shrugged and stood. "Well you've been playing this one already, really since the day you met Sherlock and shot my cabbie. And now, at the final stretch, Johnny Boy, I'm making my final move. And my final move is you, John. The final chess piece. My last hostage to bring Sherlock to his knees."

"You'll never get away with this," said John, steaming with anger.

"I will, John. I have and I always will. I'm James Moriarty and no one will ever beat me. Not you. Not Sherlock Holmes. No one." Jim grinned. "Now play your part, John and you'll make it out of this in one piece. No heroics, understood?"

"For now. But I swear that if I get the chance to kill you or if you threaten Sherlock, I will kill you." John's face was now a raw mass of hidden rage and deep loathing, his jaw chiseled.

Jim smiled and chuckled, bending over slightly to come face-to-face with John. "Not. Before. I. Kill. You."


End file.
